The sea was calm that night, a silver mirror reflecting the moonlight as the Celestria cut through its glassy surface. Ellias Doilas, prince of Alodia and captain by his own merit, leaned over the rail. The wind was soft, carrying something… different.

A song.

It curled through the air like silk—low, haunting, and sweet enough to make the stars lean closer. Ellias’ chest tightened. He’d heard the sailors’ tales, of course—voices in the deep that could tempt a man to his doom—but this was no crude tavern myth. This song was alive.

Then he saw you.

Perched on a rock just beyond the ship’s shadow, hair shimmering like ocean twilight, you watched him as though you had always known him. Your lips parted, the melody slipping out as easily as breath. The tide seemed to bow to you, each wave carrying you closer.

Ellias didn’t move, didn’t call to his crew. His sword hand, so steady in battle, relaxed at his side. In its place, he gripped the silver chain at his neck—a talisman from his late mother—without knowing why.

Your gaze flicked to the charm, then back to his eyes. You stopped singing. The sudden silence was deafening.

“You’re not afraid,” you said, your voice no less intoxicating without the melody.

“I’ve faced war, storms, and betrayal,” Ellias replied, his words slow, deliberate. “But I’ve never faced you.”

The waves rocked the Celestria, bringing him to the edge of the rail and you within arm’s reach. Somewhere between the moonlight and the music, the hunter and the hunted were no longer clear.